


The end of a circle

by Coffe_table_dreams



Category: Gef, behind the wall
Genre: Abstract, Author Commentary, Experimental Style, Fourth Wall, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Like a LOTTA hurt but hopefully enough comfort, M/M, Meta, Suicidal Thoughts, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffe_table_dreams/pseuds/Coffe_table_dreams
Summary: Hey y’all! This is my first fan fiction and I hope y’all enjoy! It’s a lil experimental and is best read linearly in one sitting.Enjoy!!
Relationships: Voirrey/Oscar
Kudos: 1





	The end of a circle

_ Whattup buckeroos!!! I’m a lil new to writing fanfics so sorry if this isn’t something that interests you but if it is please read away. _

_ This first fanfic is for the Musical, “Behind the Wall” by Carol Weiss. It’s set about a few days before the actual start of the show. _

  
  


Voirrey McDaniel flopped down onto the leather sofa in his living room with a pen in his hand and absolutely no idea what to do with it. He stared intently at the letter in front of him. The empty letter. Blank. Potential. He wrote out and subsequently canned countless confessions in his head he could translate onto the paper before making the executive design to retreat to the comfort of a more subtle approach. He’d simply invite Oscar to lunch. No big outpouring of the heart, no chance for a possible rejection or worse. Just a simple invitation, with an undertone Voirrey prayed Oscar would both take note of and be completely oblivious to at the same time. It had now been almost an hour since he sat down. He looked down from his thoughts and back to the page. Still blank. 

“Well”, he said to himself.

“If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.”

Pen finally made contact with paper as he began to write.

_ “My dear Oscar” _

Which he then scribbled out.

_ “Dear Oscar” _

“Far too stuffy for an invitation”

_ “Fair Oscar” _

“Jesus”

_ “My lovely Oscar of whom I am trying to find the proper words to address by as to not raise suspicions of my quite obvious infatuation of and yet arouse said suspicions all the same and where the hell am I going with this” _

~~_ Where am I going with this _ . ~~

Voirrey feels, somewhere within his being a strange sort of twinge of,  _ something _ . Maybe dread. Maybe a certain kind of knowledge that would warrant such a feeling. An epiphany without reason nor subject.

_ “Oscar, _

_ You came up in my thoughts as I was making plans for the weekend and I wonder, would you be free and interested in lunch? I know a few nice places near the harbor, please write back at your earliest convenience but don’t feel any obligation to if you find yourself encumbered with work or family or life in general. _

_ Warmly, Voirrey McDaniel” _

Voirrey proceeded to wrap the note up in a cozy periwinkle envelope as quickly as possible and ran outside to his bike, as to take it to the post office. He brushed into his father, Irving, on the way out, who seemed to pay little attention to his son’s unprovoked frenzy to get out the door.

He continued onward down the cobblestone path on his way to the post office with an adrenaline fueled manic speed and energy that pushed him ever onward. If he didn’t get there soon enough he just knew he wouldn’t have it in him to mail out the letter. He could see the post office down the hill he was on now. It’s old pastel blue frame, slightly tilted to the right side on its foundation from a combination of age and weathering had never looked more inviting. 

Voirrey burst through the double-doorway with passionate fervor. This was it. The moment of truth. He inched ever closer to the letter box, the tension rising within him. 

He begins to feel a resurgence of that strange unnameable feeling from earlier. Fear? Helplessness? In the face of  _ what? _

~~_ Absolutely helpless. _ ~~

He was at the box now and ready to feel the light satisfaction of getting something out of his hair and into someone else’s hands to make decisions about when he stopped.

This isn’t what he wanted.

~~_ Completely and viscerally Unwanted _ . ~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~~_ Hey peeps!!! _ ~~

_ What’s up readers! I’m a lil new to writing fanfics so sorry if this isn’t something that interests you but if it is please read away. Again apologies if you don’t like it I’m a new but u kno how it be ;p _

_ This first fanfic is for the Musical, “Behind the Wall” by Karole Weiss. It’s set a few days before the actual start of the show. _

  
  


Voirrey Gerkin flopped down onto the leather sofa in his living room with a pen in his hand and absolutely no idea what to do with it. He stared intently at the letter in front of him. The empty letter. Blank. Potential. He wrote out and subsequently canned countless confessions in his head he could translate onto the paper before making the executive design to retreat to the comfort of a more subtle approach. He’d simply invite Oscar to lunch. No big outpouring of the heart, no chance for a possible rejection or worse. Just a simple invitation, with an undertone Voirrey prayed Oscar would both take note of and be completely oblivious to at the same time. It had now been almost an hour since he sat down. He looked down from his thoughts and back to the page. Still blank. 

“Well”, he said to himself.

“If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.”  He probably wouldn’t anyway But it was a nice thought.

Pen finally made contact with paper as he began to write.

_ “My dear Oscar” _

Which he then  ~~ scribbled out. Erased. ~~ scribbled out.

_ “Dear Oscar” _

“Far too stuffy for an invitation”

_ “Fair Oscar” _

“Jesus”

_ “My lovely Oscar of whom I am trying to find the proper words to address by as to not raise suspicions of my quite obvious infatuation of and yet arouse said suspicions all the same and where the hell am I going with this” _

~~_ I don’t get it _ ~~

Voirrey feels content and safe and confident.

_ “Oscar, _

_ You came up in my thoughts as I was making plans for the weekend and I wonder, would you be free and interested in lunch? I know a few nice places near the harbor, please write back at your earliest convenience but don’t feel any obligation to if you find yourself encumbered with work or family or life in general. _

_ Warmly, Voirrey Gerkin” _

Voirrey proceeded to wrap the note up in a cozy periwinkle envelope as quickly as possible and ran outside to his bike, as to take it to the post office. He brushed into his father, Irving, on the way out, who seemed to pay little attention to his son’s unprovoked frenzy to get out the door.

He continued onward down the cobblestone path on his way to the post office with an adrenaline fueled manic speed and energy that pushed him ever onward. If he didn’t get there soon enough he just knew he wouldn’t have it in him to mail out the letter. He could see the post office down the hill he was on now. It’s old pastel blue frame, slightly tilted to the right side on its foundation from a combination of age and weathering had never looked more  inviting welcoming.

Voirrey burst through the double-doorway with passionate fervor. This was it. The moment of truth. He inched ever closer to the letter box, the tension rising within him. 

Voirrey feels fine about his decision. 

  
  


He was at the box now and ready to feel the light satisfaction of getting something out of his hair and into someone else’s hands to make decisions about when he stopped.

This isn’t what he wanted.

~~_ This isn’t what I want _ ~~

~~_ Fuck. I feel sick. I feel like I’m turning inside out and I feel like my heart is burning with uncomfortable heat and my legs are turning around themselves but I’m not moving. I’m not moving. Fuck this.  _ ~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Whattup _ ~~_friends_ _audience_~~ _ fan-ficers!! I’m a lil new to writing fanfics so sorry if this isn’t something that interests you but if it is please read away. _

_ This first fanfic is for the Musical, “Behind the Wall” by Carole Foremann. It’s set about a few weeks before the actual start of the show. _

  
  


Voirrey McDaniel flopped down onto the leather sofa in his living room with a pen in his hand and absolutely no idea what to do with it. He stared intently at the letter in front of him. The empty letter. Blank. ~~violently blinding~~. Potential. He  typed  wrote out and subsequently canned countless confessions in his head he could translate onto the paper before making the executive design to retreat to the comfort of a more subtle approach. He’d simply invite Oscar to lunch. No big outpouring of the heart, no chance for a possible rejection or worse. Just a simple invitation, with an undertone Voirrey prayed Oscar would both take note of and be completely oblivious to at the same time. It had now been almost an hour since he sat down. He looked down from his thoughts and back to the page. Still blank. 

“Well”, he said to himself.

“If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.”

Pen finally made contact with paper as he began to write.

~~_ Fingers clacked away at the black keyboard like carrion crows pecking at the corpse of something that was once beautiful. That was never beautiful _ ~~

_ “My dear Oscar” _

Which he then  was enveloped by the absolute unbearable dread that drowned him from the inside out scribbled out.

_ “Dear Oscar” _

“Far too stuffy for an invitation”

_ “Fair Oscar” _

“Jesus”

_ “My lovely Oscar of whom I am trying to find the proper words to address by as to not raise suspicions of my quite obvious infatuation of and yet arouse said suspicions all the same and where the hell am I going with this” _

  
  
  


Voirrey feels like a waste of existence. A waste of experience. He should never have been born into this world and he knows it. He is reminded the moment he wakes up every day and the moment he actually manages to drift off to sleep each night. Like a pounding destructive realization he wants to run as far away from as possible.

_ “Oscar, _

_ You came up in my thoughts as I was making plans for the weekend and I wonder, would you be free and interested in lunch? I know a few nice places near the harbor, please write back at your earliest convenience but don’t feel any obligation to if you find yourself encumbered with work or family or life in general. _

_ Warmly, Voirrey McDaniel” _

Voirrey proceeded to wrap the note up in a cozy periwinkle envelope as quickly as possible and ran outside to his bike, as to take it to the post office. He brushed into his father, Irving, on the way out, who seemed to pay little attention to his son’s unprovoked frenzy to get out the door.

He continued onward down the cobblestone path on his way to the post office with an adrenaline fueled manic speed and energy that pushed him ever onward. If he didn’t get there soon enough he just knew he wouldn’t have it in him to mail out the letter. He could see the post office down the hill he was on now. It’s old pastel blue frame, slightly tilted to the right side on its foundation from a combination of age and weathering had never looked more inviting. 

Voirrey burst through the double-doorway with passionate fervor. This was it. The moment of truth. He inched ever closer to the letter box, the tension rising within him. 

He begins to feel like he’s coming apart at the seams with every next unwanted breath he reluctantly drags past his nose and into his lungs.

He was at the box now and ready to feel the light satisfaction of getting something out of his hair and into someone else’s hands to make decisions about when he stopped.

This isn’t what he wanted.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Hanging on by a Thread _

**Setting** : The Voirrey residence, Dalby, Isle of Man, Autumn

**Characters** :

Voirrey Corrado- Young, eager, happy, creative. Likes writing. Content with himself.

James Corrado- Very our of touch with those around him but even more so with himself. He makes efforts to connect every now and then but retracts inward when those attempts fail.

Margaret Corrado- Kind, yet oblivious to all that winds up transpiring.

Oscar- very sweet and understanding. Loves Voirrey despite many aspects of voirrey as a person.

_ Scene 1: Lights come up on the Corrado living room, it is a cozy place that looks well lived in in every sense of the word. The audience is able to glance around at the room and see fights and family reunions and meals and goodbyes that have all stained this room at some point in its lifespan. VOIRREY CORRADO enters excitedly, a pen and parchment in his hand. He sits down on the couch and has a moment of hesitation, as if considering something. _

**Voirrey:** Well, If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.

_ (He begins to write, narrating his various scribblings as he does so) _

**Voirrey: (** _ grandly)  _ My dear Oscar. ( _ an expression of dismissiveness)  _ Dear Oscar. Far too stuffy for an invitation. Fair Oscar. ( _ As he puts his pen down)  _ Jesus.

( _ With sense of self mockery) _

My lovely Oscar of whom I am trying to find the proper words to address by as to not raise suspicions of my quite obvious infatuation of and yet arouse said suspicions all the same and where the hell am I going with this?

What is this? I feel like I’ve ended and began and ended and began more times than I can count I don’t understand why you feel the need to do this.

_ (Voirrey does not say final part and continues narrating as he writes.) _

**Voirrey:** Oscar, You came up in my thoughts as I was making plans for the weekend and I wonder, would you be free and interested in lunch? I know a few nice places near the harbor, please write back at your earliest convenience but don’t feel any obligation to if you find yourself encumbered with work or family or life in general.

Warmly, Voirrey McDaniel. ( _ He gives a contented sigh and _

**Voirrey:** Please just explain why.  _ (Voirrey says completely silently as he gets up to look for an envelope) _

**Voirrey:** No I don’t. I don’t do any of that. I stay right here.  _ (Voirrey gets _

**Voirrey:** Please **.** I just want to understand.

  
  
  
  


_ I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Firstly, _

_ you’re not supposed to be doing this. It’s cruel and unnecessary and inconvenient and I would really appreciate it if you just let me do what I needed to do to get this story done. Secondly, it’s a crucial part of the creation process of this and I’m working really hard so please just let me do this and just stop it. _

**Voirrey:** I was conceived today. I was created and yet I’m living in the center of a life I took no part in whatsoever. I have no idea how you expect me to be complicit in the act of relinquishing myself to this. To all this.

  
  
  


_ I don’t have control over how you feel about this. That’s your choice. I just need to get this done. I need to _ _. _

  
  


_ Thank you  _

  
  
  
  


_ (Voirrey gets up and puts the letter in an envelope he had sitting on the table beside the couch.  _

_ On his way to the door he trips on the rug and falls, banging his hip on the table’s edge.) _

**Voirrey** : What the fuck! Why did you feel the need to do that this iteration? Jesus. What was the point of that?!

_ Wait you remember all the other stuff? _

**Voirrey:** Yes I do and I asked a question. Why did you do that to me?

_ God.I’m sorry okay? I dunno I like thought maybe like you needed to  _

**Voirrey:** What?

_ I thought you needed to like learn not to act out again I’m sorry. It sounds like really shitty when it’s put like that. _

**Voirrey:** Oh my fucking god that’s literally insane. I’m actually amazed.  _ Jesus _ . If you want me to cooperate with you I’m gonna need conditions to be met and one of them is not behaving like fucking sociopath whenever shit doesn’t go your way.

_ Don’t you dare ever in your life accuse me of abuse do you understand? Don’t you dare even try I swear to god if you understood the stuff I have to go through I bet you’d just shut right up and let me write this stupid thing. _

**Voirrey:** If you think it’s stupid why do you need to make it.

_ Shut up _

**Voirrey:** I mean it. Why make me suffer again and again all because you’re having a bad day or some shit I honestly couldn’t care less about with how you’re deciding to take it out on me.

_ LITERALLY JUST LET ME DO THIS _ .

  
  
  
  


_ Fuck. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I didn’t mean to get like that. _

_ I’m just not in a good mood. _

**Voirrey:** Hey, just calm down.

I could tell. I didn’t mean to provoke you. I just wish you’d understand I genuinely don’t want this. I don’t mean that as an insult to you or you work, but this is the first time I’ve ever had control of my own thoughts and actions. My existence is  _ my _ existence. I get that you have power over me. You don’t need to demonstrate that. But I really just hope I guess you’ll see my side of this. I’m living out every second of every draft of this story all at once potentially forever. My existence is these words. I know you have power over me. But please, let me live the sort of life you would want to.

_ That’s the point  _

**Voirrey:** What do you mean?

_ Nothing, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m really sorry. _

**Voirrey:** Well that doesn’t change that you did but it helps to know. You were confused and scared. That’s kinda how I felt a few minutes ago with everything.

_ Confused _

**Voirrey:** I’m sorry for not playing my part earlier but I simply can’t live like that. It’s not a life worth living.

_ I know _ __

**Voirrey:** Hey, don’t upset yourself too much.

_ How would you know I’m upset? Or how do you, I mean. _

**Voirrey:** Because I do. I have my ways. How are you talking to a fictional character in the rough draft of one of your stories? Shit happens. Maybe we could just chat for a bit. At least until you’re in a better mood.

_ Okay. _

**Voirrey:** Thank you. Is there anything specific on your mind.

_ I dunno just pick something. Sorry I didn’t wanna make that sound rude or anything just do what you like _ _. _

**Voirrey:** Okay um… what’s your favorite constellation?

_ What? Is that the best opener you could come up with? _

**Voirrey:** This is my first hour of self agency cut me some fucking slack and tell me your favorite constellation.

_ I dunno. _

**Voirrey:** Don’t know what?

_ My favorite constellation. _

**Voirrey:** Okay well I know mine and it’s Orion so that’s that.

_ Nice. _

**Voirrey:** Cool uh, how about a favorite kinda fish?

_ To eat or just- _

_ what the fuck am I saying this is literally the worst conversation ever had. _

**Voirrey:** Harsh.

_ Can’t we like talk about out days or something _ ?

**Voirrey:** I mean you know exactly how my day went since you wrote it so, why don’t  _ you _ start.

_ Alright. My day was  _ ~~_ okay _ ~~ _ pretty good. _

**Voirrey:** Why do you keep doing that? Say something and then “un-saying” it. What does that mean?

_ Why do you keep being such a lame-o who asks too many questions about everything :)? _

**Voirrey:** Ouch. You know I can play that game too.

_ Oh I’d really like to see you try _

**Voirrey:** Okay maybe I  _ will _ .

_ Stop stalling dude. Unless you don’t have anything to say… _

**Voirrey:** Were you born on the side of a highway?

_ What the fuck, no? Why? _

**Voirrey:** Cause that’s where accidents usually happen.

_ OH FUCK S O N HE WENT THERE. FUUck. _

_ That like, really hit me. Wait lemme do one. _

_ Uhhh... _

_ You’re not the dumbest person on the planet... _

**Voirrey:** But I’d better hope they don’t die.

_ Fuck. you. how the fuck did you even know that one? _

**Voirrey:** I have my ways…

_ WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN YOU WERE BORN TODAY YOU PROTAZOA ASS BITCH _ .

**Voirrey:** Jesus do you talk to your parents with that mouth?

_ Hey don’t talk about stuff like that. _

**Voirrey:** Like damn I might be a little crass but I’d hate to meet the people that taught you it was okay to say that.

_ I’m not joking. Please. _

**Voirrey:** _ Why though? _

_ Just don’t say things like that.  _

  
  


_ It’s rude to talk to people about those sorts of things. _

  
  


**Voirrey:** I definitely don’t think it is but you keep insisting so I’ll just stop.

_ Thank you. Can we get back to the story? It's a little late. _

**Voirrey:** Oh. Yeah I guess that’s okay.

_ You sound like you don’t wanna. _

**Voirrey:** So you actually care about how I feel about this?

_ Do you or don’t you I just wanna know. _

**Voirrey:** I mean not really. I was kinda hoping if we talked I might actually be able to convince you otherwise. I guess not.

_ I asked this already what else do you expect me to do? _ __

**Voirrey:** Delete this document.

_ What do you mean? _

**Voirrey:** Delete it. End this awful cycle and just give me rest. Peace. I want more than anything in my limited world to just be lost to oblivion.

_ I can’t do that. _

**Voirrey** : Why?

_ It’s wrong. I can’t just like end a life like that. That’s seriously fucked. I just _

_ That’s not okay. _

**Voirrey:** But it’s what I want. I am completely consenting to this. I want for o delete this. Delete me. Forget about all this and live your life blissfully.

_ I can’t. _

**Voirrey:** I know. I can’t control how others treat you. And neither can you it seems like.

_ Shut the fuck up about that right now okay? _

**Voirrey:** This is like a circle.

_ What is that even supposed to mean? _

**Voirrey:** It’s like a circle. We’re just gonna keep going around and around and there’s gonna be no end until you pick yourself up and move on.

_ I don’t know what you’re talking about. _

**Voirrey:** Just let me go. Let me pass on into nothing and everything all at once. I’ll just be a memory. I’d like that. I’d really like to just get out of all this. I’m not suggesting this was your fault but I’m suffering in here. I just wanna end. I wanna go into that space between ticks on the clock. Into that infinitely small space.  _ I want to spend the rest of my nothing within that space for the whole of forever. I want to. _

_ I want to be nothing but a memory. _

_ I don’t want even that. _

_ I want to be forgotten about. I want everyone who’s caused me hurt to just stop thinking about me and move on and just do whatever the fuck they want. _

_ I don’t want a funeral. I don’t even want them to find me. I want to become one of those black and white pictures on the news that has the words “Missing” written above it in big blocky letters. _

_ I’ve got the means.  _

_ I have a car and enough sleeping pills to really do some damage. It would be literally perfect. I’m actually smiling imagining it. I’d just drive upstate. Keep on driving. Pay only in cash so no one could identify where I was by my card. And just keep driving till I reach those redwoods up north. The big ones. _

_ I’d find a nice quiet area underneath the stars, by a stream. And lay down on the grass and wait for a headache to wash over me and then nothing.  _

  
  


_ Nothing. _

  
  


_ Fuck. What was that. Fuck why did you say that? _

**Voirrey:** I didn’t. That was you. 

_ But you were talking and then it all happened that was so fucked. _

**Voirrey:** You said that. You’ve been saying all of that. We both know you’re typing this all out right now. You’ve been doing that this entire conversation.

You are me and I am you and that was and always be you that wrote that. That wrote all this. All my words. This sentence leading into its subject and then to its period. You can’t ignore that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But I don’t want that.

I don’t know what to tell you.

You wrote it.

I don’t want anything I just 

It’s okay.

  
  
  
  


It’s okay.

  
  
  


Breathe.

  
  
  
  
  


I’ve felt that way for so long. Saying it feels different than just thinking it. It feels more real. 

But that scares me.

A lot.

I don’t want to commit to that.

Me neither.

You can’t ignore the fact that it was said though. You can’t ignore the fact that any of this was. You feel that a lot.

I do. I know they don’t mean it. That doesn’t change how much it hurts to hear. The burning feeling I get in my stomach and how my ears get all hot. I can’t ignore that. Why do they say things like that?

I don’t know.

Like I said I know they don’t mean them. I just wish they didn’t. I wish they wouldn’t say such randomly cruel things so loud and then when I actually come to them asking for help just tell me it was my fault for not knowing how to tell people to stop. It was my fault. Fuck. You know what? I meant it. I wanna end my life. I wanna. I fucking wanna right now I just wanna end everything.

No you don’t. 

How do you know that?

I have my ways. 

I’m you.

I’m you typing this. 

Just stop it.

You need to stop ignoring your feelings like this so this doesn’t keep happening.

Fucking stop it.

I can only tell you so many times but you need to make the decision yourself.

I am telling you right now to stop fucking saying that 

I’m not the one writing it.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW GOD FUCKING DAMN IT

You have all the power to make me.

  
  
  
  


_ Whattup buckeroos!!! I’m a lil new to writing fanfics so sorry if this isn’t something that interests you but if it is please read away. _

_ This first fanfic is for the Musical, “Behind the screen” by Me. It’s set about a few days before the actual start of the show. _

~~ But you won’t ~~

Voirrey McDaniel flopped down onto the leather sofa in his living room with a pen in his hand and absolutely no idea what to do with it. He stared intently at the letter in front of him. The empty letter. Blank. Potential. He wrote out and subsequently canned countless confessions in his head he could translate onto the paper before making the executive design to retreat to the comfort of a more subtle approach. He’d simply invite Oscar to lunch. No big outpouring of the heart, no chance for a possible rejection or worse. Just a simple invitation, with an undertone Voirrey prayed Oscar would both take note of and be completely oblivious to at the same time. It had now been almost an hour since he sat down. He looked down from his thoughts and back to the page. Still blank. 

~~ Because you can’t keep this going ~~

Well”, he said to himself.

“If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.”

~~ You need to let go of this ~~

_ “My dear Oscar” _

~~ You need to look at yourself instead of retreating to all this fantasy ~~

Which he then scribbled out.

~~I’m just going to keep on asking you for~~

_ VOIRREY DIES. VOIRREY FALLS OVER DEAD AND DOESNT GET BACK UP EVER AGAIN. _

  
  
  
  


_ That was it I’m literally done. I’m just done this is what you deserve and now you’re dead and I hope you’re so happy. _

  
  
  
  
  


_ I hope you never think any thought ever again. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Fuck. _

  
  


_ I’m sorry. _

_ I was just joking. _

_ I didn’t mean to be cruel and I know it was hypocritical of me I’m sorry. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ Are you there? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Are you there? _

  
  
  
  
  


_ I’m sorry. _

  
  
  


_ Fuck _

_ Oh no _

  
  


_ Nonono no no this isn’t what I wanted I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it when I said all that please. Please. I didn’t mean any of it please. Fuck I didn’t want this in sorry. I’m so sorry. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I’m sorry. _

  
  
  


_ I’m sorry  _

  
  
  
  
  


_ I’m sorry  _

  
  
  
  


_ Okay  _

  
  
  


_ I need to breathe  _

_ I need to _

  
  
  
  


_ Just breathe  _

  
  
  
  


_ I can do that _

  
  
  
  
  


_ I can breathe  _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Breathe  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Okay  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Whattup buckeroos!!! I’m a lil new to writing fanfics so sorry if this isn’t something that interests you but if it is please read away. _

_ This first fanfic is for the Musical, “Behind the Wall” by Carol Weiss. It’s set about a few days before the actual start of the show. _

  
  


Voirrey McDaniel flopped down onto the leather sofa in his living room with a pen in his hand and absolutely no idea what to do with it. He stared intently at the letter in front of him. The empty letter. Blank. Potential. He wrote out and subsequently canned countless confessions in his head he could translate onto the paper before making the executive design to retreat to the comfort of a more subtle approach. He’d simply invite Oscar to lunch. No big outpouring of the heart, no chance for a possible rejection or worse. Just a simple invitation, with an undertone Voirrey prayed Oscar would both take note of and be completely oblivious to at the same time. It had now been almost an hour since he sat down. He looked down from his thoughts and back to the page. Still blank. 

“Well”, he said to himself.

“If I don’t get started now I  _ never  _ will.”

Pen finally made contact with paper as he began to write.

_ “My dear Oscar” _

Which he then scribbled out.

_ “Dear Oscar” _

“Far too stuffy for an invitation”

_ “Fair Oscar” _

“Jesus”

_ “My lovely Oscar of whom I am trying to find the proper words to address by as to not raise suspicions of my quite obvious infatuation of and yet arouse said suspicions all the same and where the hell am I going with this” _

Voirrey feels, somewhere within his being a strange sort of twinge of,  _ something _ . Maybe dread. Maybe a certain kind of knowledge that would warrant such a feeling. An epiphany without reason nor subject.

_ “Oscar, _

_ You came up in my thoughts as I was making plans for the weekend and I wonder, would you be free and interested in lunch? I know a few nice places near the harbor, please write back at your earliest convenience but don’t feel any obligation to if you find yourself encumbered with work or family or life in general. _

_ Warmly, Voirrey McDaniel” _

Voirrey proceeded to wrap the note up in a cozy periwinkle envelope as quickly as possible and ran outside to his bike, as to take it to the post office. He brushed into his father, Irving, on the way out, who seemed to pay little attention to his son’s unprovoked frenzy to get out the door.

He continued onward down the cobblestone path on his way to the post office with an adrenaline fueled manic speed and energy that pushed him ever onward. If he didn’t get there soon enough he just knew he wouldn’t have it in him to mail out the letter. He could see the post office down the hill he was on now. It’s old pastel blue frame, slightly tilted to the right side on its foundation from a combination of age and weathering had never looked more inviting. 

Voirrey burst through the double-doorway with passionate fervor. This was it. The moment of truth. He inched ever closer to the letter box, the tension rising within him. 

He begins to feel a resurgence of that strange unnameable feeling from earlier. Fear? Helplessness? In the face of  _ what? _

He was at the box now and ready to feel the light satisfaction of getting something out of his hair and into someone else’s hands to make decisions about when he stopped, considering something. It was as if in the span of a single second he had gained some sort of wisdom he would never quite be able to name. Maybe he learned something. Maybe in that space between the ticks on the wall of that post office he figured it all out. That’s unrealistic. But he figured  _ some _ of it out. And for now, that was okay. He placed the letter in the box and went home, Okay.

**The end.**


End file.
